When my senses returned to me I found myself lying on the floor of the wagon-house in the back yard.  Glancing from my half-opened eyes, for I was still speechless, I saw Marie, white as a sheet, her hair all falling about her dishevelled dress.  She was seated on one of those boxes that we put on the front of wagons to drive from, “voorkissies” they are called, and as her eyes were watching me I knew that she lived.  By her stood a tall and dark young man whom I had never seen before.  He was holding her hand and looking at her anxiously, and even then I felt angry with him.  Also I saw other things; for instance, my old father leaning down and looking at me anxiously, and outside in the yard, for there were no doors to the wagon-house, a number of men with guns in their hands, some of whom I knew and others who were strangers.  In the shadow, too, against the wall, stood my blood mare with her head hanging down and trembling all over.  Not far from her the roan lay upon the ground, its flank quite red.

I tried to rise and could not, then feeling pain in my left thigh, looked and saw that it was red also.  As a matter of fact an assegai had gone half through it and hit upon the bone.  Although I never felt it at the time, this wound was dealt to me by that great Quabie whom Hans and I had received upon our spears, doubtless as he fell.  Hans, by the way, was there also, an awful and yet a ludicrous spectacle, for the Quabie had fallen right on the top of him and lain so with results that may, be imagined.  There he sat upon the ground, looking upwards, gasping with his fish-like mouth.  Each gasp, I remember, fashioned itself into the word “Allemachte!” that is “Almighty,” a favourite Dutch expression.

Marie was the first to perceive that I had come to life again.  Shaking herself free from the clasp of the young man, she staggered towards me and fell upon her knees at my side, muttering words that I could not catch, for they choked in her throat.  Then Hans took in the situation, and wriggling his unpleasant self to my other side, lifted my hand and kissed it.  Next my father spoke, saying: 

“Praise be to God, he lives!  Allan, my son, I am proud of you; you have done your duty as an Englishman should.”

“Had to save my own skin if I could, thank you, father,” I muttered.

“Why as an Englishman more than any other sort of man, Mynheer Predicant?” asked the tall stranger, speaking in Dutch, although he evidently understood our language.

“The point is one that I will not argue now, sir,” answered my father, drawing himself up.  “But if what I hear is true, there was a Frenchman in that house who did not do his duty; and if you belong to the same nation, I apologise to you.”

“Thank you, sir; as it happens, I do, half.  The rest of me is Portuguese, not English, thank God.”

“God is thanked for many things that must surprise Him,” replied my father in a suave voice.